Ideas from Non-theater DOORS

The idea, a working hypothesis, that every person is already perfect. He is part of the Absolute, the Great Pattern. Synthesis of all previous generations. The result of the struggle, life, suffering and happiness of all hundreds of previous generations, all thousands of people. Quitness of life of all previous.

Edit? You can spend your whole life with pleasure hone that pattern that is playing right now. But do it not from a position of guilt or inferiority. And it is proud to boldly, with full authority, to declare yourself as such, just as it is. In this case, a person can objectively flog a garbage. But if he rubs this garbage, which is called being in bliss, this is the friction of this garbage - well, while it does not violate the written unwritten laws - it is almost a sacred rippling of garbage.

Because troubles and illnesses begin when a person wants to flog a garbage, not a porridge.

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And if a person smears garbage because of fear that he is without this friction scam - no one. Then this is of course again demonic, and then nothing differs from restraining this very bullshit. Because it comes from fear. From panic. From the feeling of imperfection of oneself, and therefore of peace.

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And man - he is perfect. He is already part of the absolute. At the same time, one must understand that a person can certainly be unskillful, and it is terrible to sing, and he must learn to sing. But he is just such - wonderful. It is such a bad singing he is part of the absolute)

But he certainly has to learn to sing)

And in general, this is all just called self-respect, a healthy self-confidence, and permission to live and express oneself. These are the basic standard things.

Just allowing yourself to create.
It is this skill that allows you to exhale, feel confidently occupying the volume of space that it occupies. And that in general, THERE, where a person can run - as much happiness as here. And this opens the way to active business, beautiful singing, editing, and millions of quiet)

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My God. My light. My Absolute. My You.
With the movement of the palm TANK stops the scurvy
And I go, pressing flowers to my chest.
And so I will go. While there is oxygen, for inspiration.